


if i don't make it

by hanjt



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BUTT in this au hosea lives :)))))), M/M, Robbery, Spoilers, the mission at the end of chapter 4, where they rob the saint denis bank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 23:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17538695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanjt/pseuds/hanjt
Summary: [ SPOILERS for the end of Chapter 4. ]When the going got rough, and he looked to Dutch, to Arthur, to John, he felt like a free man, just for a fleeting moment.Hosea, even with a revolver nudging against his temple, with a rough hand pushing his trembling body, felt free.TL;DR - An AU where Hosea lives during the mission 'Banking, the Old American Art'.





	if i don't make it

**Author's Note:**

> i cant sue rockstar for killing my fave so i'll just pretend he's still okay.

Hosea Matthews had lived a long enough life. A dishonest and gruelling one, but a long one. With such a life he’d still found himself a home within others – not many people with as many sins as he had could say that. Those sins dragged behind him like a ball and chain. When the going got rough, and he looked to Dutch, to Arthur, to John, he felt like a free man, just for a fleeting moment.

Hosea, even with a revolver nudging against his temple, with a rough hand pushing his trembling body, felt free. He could hear Dutch’s voice. His hands shook, yet he stood his ground. Milton shoved him forward. His polished shoes shuffled against the harsh road, his back hunched, afraid. He looked to the bank, knowing his _family_ was still in there. He swore he could hear the ticking of an imaginary mechanical watch, counting down the seconds.

Hosea knew his gang was in the bank with the money. He knew he wouldn’t make it out of this last big haul; it was better the rest got out, lived their dream. He knew all this, and turned, determination swallowing him whole, as he faced Milton’s gun.

The streets were filled with a single shot, echoing. Hosea numbly placed a hand over the gaping wound, felt the blood rushing out like a waterfall. He fell frailty, like a feather, hitting the ground with a soft _thud_. His world, still alight, he choked. He heard Arthur – _his boy, he sounded distressed_ – and his head lay to rest on the concrete as a chorus of shots began over him, Dutch’s voice distantly roaring.

His eyes were still open. He could see. He could feel the vibrations of the gunfire through the ground, yet he could not move. His breath whistled. His wound pulsed.

How in the _hell_ was he still alive?

Hosea supposed it was God’s sick way of punishing him before he perished. His sins slowly leaving him, akin to how he bled. The red puddled around him gradually, as more and more bodies of the Pinkertons fell around him.

His eyes diverted to stare at his torso. He silently examined the wound. It was lodged above where he estimated his heart to be. It may have hit his lung. Shit, if one of his lungs _wasn’t_ filling with blood, then the bullet may have avoided vital organs. But the blood loss would catch up to him, and then he’d be done for.

Hosea rested.

The ticking was back, quiet in the world of chaos that surrounded him.

Hosea could hear commotion behind him, coming from the bank. He heard Arthur once more. His voice was much clearer than the other gang members’. Was he outside?

“… still alive!” Jus’ cover me, dammit!”

Hosea’s heart filled with dread. The sound of a metal gate being shot open creaked and blended into the loud fight. Quick yet heavy footsteps neared him. Hosea struggled to prop himself on his arm.

“N-no, leave,” he wheezed desperately, failing to claw away from Arthur.

“I ain’t leavin’ nobody.” Arthur snapped, shooting his volcanic pistol at the pinkertons with piercing accuracy.

He kneeled quickly as a shower of bullets flew past them. The Pinkertons must have realised that Hosea was still alive, and now their sights were on them. Arthur pulled one of Hosea’s arms around his shoulders, taking most of his weight, and ran, half dragging Hosea across the road. Now that he had a chance, Hosea tried ignoring the throbbing of his wound, instead forcing his legs to work. Arthur slammed through the gate, throwing them both into the alley of the bank they’d blown through to. He wasn’t left enough time to wonder how they’d avoided the pinkertons’ bulkets.

“Arthur! Bring him here!” Dutch shouted, eyes glistening with fear and regret. He stood upon the platform of the opposite building, his arm reaching. Arthur propped Hosea against the rungs of the latter.

“This’ll hurt a bit,” Arthur mumbled apologetically, beginning to help Hosea up the ladder.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, son…” Hosea breathed, a delicate smile ghosting his expression.

Hosea reached out to Dutch’s hand with a grimace, and sighed once he got to the platform. Dutch held his arm for a second longer before he began helping him climb the next ladder, to the roof.

Once the three were upon the roof, with the rest of the gang already up top, Hosea collapsed behind some cover. He waved Dutch off, weakly told him to keep fighting with the rest, and then shakily took his jacket off. He ripped the white material of his dress shirt, long enough to wrap around him, and did a messy job of wrapping it around his shoulder and back in an attempt to stop some of the blood flow from the bullet wound. He then shook his jacket back on, and placed a heavy hand over the injury, putting pressure on it. He groaned in pain, shivering as Dutch and the rest stopped to plan what was to happen next. The gunfire had stopped for a brief moment.

“Hosea, we’ll have to get movin’,” Dutch said, nearing him.

Hosea sat there like a corpse, wondering how in the _hell_ he would be able to escape with them. Dutch kneeled in front of Hosea. Sweat painted Dutch’s skin, his hair was frazzled; he looked as exhausted as Hosea felt.

“We’re goin’ across the rooftops, and no _,_ we are _not_ leaving you.” Dutch lowered his voice. Just for Hosea to hear. The emphasis he put on his words – Hosea couldn’t argue. Not now. Not in this position. Still, Dutch couldn’t ignore reality.

“I – Dutch, if I don’t make it outta this, which is almost certain right now, then you’ll have to leave me –”

Dutch grunted in disagreement, standing. “Arthur, come and help me with Hosea! The rest o’ you boys go ahead!”

Hosea, as he was lifted and supported by both Arthur and Dutch, felt the smallest buds of hope plant in his chest, right beside where he’d gotten shot.

He had his family. Fighting and risking for him.

Hosea clung onto them tighter.

God knows how much longer he had.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks y'all for reading, dropping a kudos and a comment would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> rn this is just a one shot, but if ya want more, i may continue this!


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